


maybe you're my snowflake

by iGoogle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 15 year old Harry, First Kiss, Fluff, Guardian Angel AU, M/M, angel!fic, angel!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iGoogle/pseuds/iGoogle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry may have waited long enough for his angel to appear, but when he does, it's clear he's come straight from heaven.</p><p>or</p><p>Louis is Harry's guardian angel, and they meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe you're my snowflake

For as long as Harry has been alive, he's been waiting. Well, that's not saying much considering Harry's really only been alive for 15 years, but those years may as well have been decades, centuries, or millenniums, even.

See, just about everyone Harry goes to school with had already met their guardian angels ages ago (okay, only about a year ago but _still_ ).  Harry sometimes wonders if he's the oldest person on the whole planet who hasn't met his guardian yet. He'll lie awake late at night, thinking of what his friend, Liam, had said earlier in the day. Thinking of what everyone says at one point or another- and he wonders if it's true. He wonders if guardians are really as amazing as they're made out to be. As beautiful and perfect and wonderful as everyone who had met theirs swears they are. Harry doesn't think he believes any of it.

Harry is tall and lanky and awkward and very, very much the uncoordinated newborn foal. He’s never been popular, and though he’s never set out to be, it’d be nice to have friends other than Liam, who was a certified nerd with too thick glasses and braces, always using words too big for his age. Not that Harry doesn’t like Liam, it’s just- well. Harry doesn’t do well in school, he isn’t good at sports, he’s not even good at socializing. He’s really not much good at anything, and at most times, he’s okay with that, because he doesn’t think about it much. There are other times, though, when he’s passing Gemma’s room, and he’ll hear her giggling with her own angel, Niall, who’d be shifting human in a few months. He’ll hear them, and he’s so, so happy for her, but he can’t help but feel everything settle down deep in his bones, like concrete being poured into his chest. He’ll remember all the little things, and it all builds up, and he knows exactly why his own angel hasn’t come for him. And he’s so, so sad for himself.

Whenever he gets like this, cold and small and unsure, his mum, Anne, makes him a cuppa and sits him down next to her, holding him tight like he might slip away without the slightest warning, melting away into nothingness.

“Harry,” she’ll croon softly, running her fingers through his soft hair. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. It’s not your fault; it happens when it’s meant to happen. You’ll see, baby. Guardians are the most amazing things, and once she gets here, you’ll swear it was worth the wait, and you’ll see. You’ll see just how perfect they are.”

And, as much as he wants to - he really, really wants to - he can’t believe any of it. Because, if guardian angels are so perfect, then why isn’t his here yet?

***

Louis never has been much good with time, actually. Or comparing timezones, or keeping track of it, or whatever. Too much maths, in his opinion, and if something was really that important, he’d have a thousand and one of those abominable yapping caretakers at his heels.

He’s not sure how long he’s been here - Heaven, or whatever - and he’s never really thought about it. He spends his days happily enough, pranking the other angels or whining to the caretakers that his tea isn’t quite hot enough. Sometimes he’ll go to the lowest level, watching through the glass floors where he can see little black dots that look like cockroaches beneath his feet. He’s never met a human, and he wonders what it’s like. There are rumors, of course, and he knows what they look like, but Louis wants something tangible.

Louis wants detailed descriptions and pictures, and the whole nine yards. Because that’s Louis; Louis is demanding and he’s a perfectionist. He’s always pushing, pushing, pushing everyone around him just to see how far he can stretch out their patience. Louis is loud and brash and fun and daring and confident. Louis is also, sometimes, careless to a fault.

He’s always been content to a point, but he knows there’s something more out there for him to do. He knows he’ll be assigned to a human, and he’ll get to go down and meet them. He’s not sure when, exactly, but he knows it’s fairly soon. Or- soon for him. Time up here doesn’t quite match with time down there, but he isn’t too worried about that. He won’t be _too_ late. He hopes.

It’s just another blah day and Louis is walking around looking for his mate Stan, wondering whether he’s finally been sent or if he’s just hiding, when he gets tackled down from behind by a rather short, purple-haired caretaker.

“Oof! What the hell- Perrie? Watch the hair,” Louis whines as he disentangles a pen from his fringe and straightens back up. “What was that about then? You’d better have a good excuse,” he sniffs airily.

Perrie adjusts her shirt and looks up at him in disbelief. “You don’t know? You mean to tell me you’ve already fucking forgotten?”

“Ah, ah, Perrie,” Louis chastises, bumping her nose with a finger. “Language. Wouldn’t want the young’ uns to hear you.”  And really, now he’s just taking the piss.

“ _Louis William Tomlinson._ Louis, you were supposed to be sent down ages ago. Why are you still here?” Without waiting for an answer, Perrie grabs his hand and pulls him toward the stations on the lowest level, where there’s a slope about five meters long that abruptly ends. Angels come here to be sent off to their human, to meet their soulmates.

Louis’ standing on the edge now (ready to fall), and it hits him all at once. He’s going down, he’s finally fucking flying down. He’s not ready, he can’t do this. But, really he can’t not do this, because there’s Perrie behind him ready to push him off rather too eagerly.

“Listen, Louis. It’s been two minutes for you, but down there, it’s been almost a year and a half. You’ll have to explain yourself to him! Good luck, love!” She shoves him down into the sparse clouds taking no particular care to be gentle.

“Him?” Louis screams as his wings spread on instinct. His voice is lost in the wind.

***

Harry likes winter. He likes snow. He loves waking up in the morning and looking out the window to find his backyard transformed into a winter wonderland after just a few hours. Last night was exactly one of those nights, and he’s made a nice cup of hot cocoa this morning planning to take it to his room and maybe watch the snow fall or read a book. Neither of those will happen, not today.

Harry hears the howling of the wind in his room, which is odd because the window had been closed and he hadn’t opened it. When he goes to open his room door, it catches on something.

“Oops,” Harry mutters under his breath as hot cocoa slops over the edge of the cup onto his hand.

“Hi,” says a small, breathy voice from behind the door.

Harry’s always been easily scared, a fact Gemma will laughingly parade at every family reunion with great relish, but he’s never been quite this startled before, and the cup drops from his hands, boiling liquid seeping into the carpet and splashing onto his trouser legs.

He feels his heart where his stomach ought to be, beating a wild rhythm. He makes a mental list of things he can use to protect himself from the intruder, but he literally doesn’t have anything on him.

“Argh! Fuck- shit. Sorry, sorry! I’m- I’m an angel, I’m your angel!” the person exclaims, rushing forward. Harry stumbles back a few steps, and studies the stranger in front of him.

The boy wasn’t lying; it’s obvious he’s an angel from his white as snow wings that had spread out in his panic, and the small glow surrounding his skin. He’s standing in front of Harry, shirtless, lips parted, and wide-eyed as though he might dart away at any second.

He’s got a caramel fringe of soft, feathery hair falling over his eyes and forehead. His eyes, Harry thinks, might take a book and a half’s worth of description. Harry’s always been told his green eyes are absolutely gorgeous, but if Harry’s eyes are green as fresh spring grass, then this angel’s eyes are blue as the cold winter sky, and he can’t seem to bring himself to look away.

He tries to say something, to make a sound, but his mouth’s gone dry and -anyway, he’s got no idea what to say. Doesn’t matter, it seems, because the boy in front of him, who looks to be only a few years older, is already talking, Harry notices.

“…and I know, it was like what, a year or something? Sorry, must’ve lost track of time,” he says with a sheepish expression on his face, shoulders shrugging. “But I’m here now,” he adds, as though that should be significant.

Harry clears his throat. “Erm- who did you say you were, again?”

The angel tilts his head, and he looks at Harry without saying anything.

Even though he’s fully clothed, Harry feels naked the way those blue eyes seem to devour every detail they take in. He clears his throat again, embarrassed. When the boy speaks up, he has a small smile on his lips.

“You’re quite beautiful, you know.”

Harry opens his mouth. He closes his mouth. He opens it again. “Um. Thanks? You- you are too?” It sounds like a mere nicety the way Harry says it, but he really means it. “But..you didn’t answer the question.”

The angel smiles a bit wider and his head tilts again. Harry wonders fleetingly if that’s something he does a lot.

“I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. I’m your angel- your guardian angel.”

The room is very quiet for a minute save for the howling wind from the window, which Harry now sees is wide open. Harry shuts the door of his room behind him, walks slowly past the angel- Louis- to the window, cautiously keeping as far away from him as the walls will allow. He closes the window slowly, looking outside at the flurries of snowflakes, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to say now.

“Erm,” Harry starts quietly. “You’re a boy. I mean- like, you can’t be mine.” He glances quickly over his shoulder and sees Louis has made himself comfortable on the bed, leaning on a pillow and arms crossed behind his head. Harry tries not to glance down at his naked chest.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m still your angel,” Louis says simply, smiling serenely, as though that’s that and everything is right with the world.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Harry whirls around, fists clenched and he can feel his face getting red. He’s not sure why he’s raised his voice, but really. This isn’t funny, and nothing is right, because Harry’s been waiting, waiting, waiting for a beautiful girl with wings to fly down gracefully from the sky and he’d hold her in his arms and they’d fall in love and then everything would be right with the world.

The boy on the bed looks taken aback, and his palms are turned up in his lap innocently towards Harry. “I- I’m sorry. It’s just, I’m not lying. I’m really yours.”

Harry’s breathing calms down slowly and he tries to make sense of his thoughts- but he can’t. He can’t think with this beautiful winged boy with too-blue eyes half naked on his bed staring at him. He can’t- he’s young and stupid and he doesn’t know anything, and he’s awkward and not popular and now there’s this on top of it all. He wonders when his life had gotten so complicated, and whether or not he’s just over thinking it all. He’s Harry, he’s just Harry, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Oh, love. I can see steam coming out of your ears,” Louis says softly, and his eyes hold a wealth of emotion- a deep well of swelling passion Harry can’t bring himself to look into. Louis pats the bed beside him. “Sit down. Sit down, and we’ll talk. It’s not nearly so complicated.”

But Harry can’t. He’s stuck here by this window, and the snow and cold and wind is supposed to be howling outside, but he feels it all inside; he feels empty and small and he doesn’t know why.

“I- I don’t understand, Louis.” The name tastes odd in his mouth, though he likes the way his tongue curls around the vowels. It’s a nice name, _Louis_. “You’re supposed to be a girl.”

Louis’ head shakes emphatically. “That’s not true, love. I’m exactly who I’m supposed to be, exactly where I’m supposed to be..here, with you.”

Harry’s head ducks and he tries not to blush at the endearment though Louis says it so easily, so comfortably and he probably doesn’t mean anything by it.

“Love is love,” Louis continues. “Love is love, and angels are angels. That’s all. It’s not complicated.”

It makes sense, Harry thinks. It makes sense, and he turns around slowly to the window again just for something to do. He looks, and he can make out the tops of trees, roofs covered in powder snow and chimneys billowing gray smoke into the blue, blue winter sky.

He imagines white, white wings spread out in the sky and blue, blue eyes in a small face flying down in midst of this winter wonderland, in midst of all these snowflakes. He likes the image more than he wants to admit to himself. It’s weird that Louis is a boy, but Louis is his. Angels can’t lie about that, and Harry turns around.

“I’ve waited for so long.” What’s supposed to come out annoyed and accusing comes out small and whispered and cracked. Small and cold and unsure and so, so sad. Harry’s throat feels tight and he feels a familiar sting behind his eyes. He turns his head and looks stupidly at the wall to his right, biting his lip. He won’t cry in front of Louis, he won’t.

He feels a warm tear slide down his cheek.

“Oh, dear.” Louis scratches his hair and he looks around, as though an answer might be written on the drywall, inscribed in the paint, or maybe etched in the snow outside.

“C’mere.” Louis scoots forward on the bed, knees bent over the edge, feet on the floor and he holds his arms out towards Harry. “C’mere, love. Don’t cry, please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love, it’s alright.”

Harry stumbles forwards unthinkingly, his own arms reaching towards Louis’. Or maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing and just doesn’t want to face the reality of that. He doesn’t want to think about either option. He wants someone to hold him, and he wants to forget about everything else, for once.

Louis scoots back on the bed with Harry in his arms till his bare back hits the cold wall behind him. Harry’s hands are so tight round Louis’ waist he’s sure there will be a bruise, later. The thought doesn’t annoy him as much as it nearly ought to. He tucks Harry’s head into his chest under his chin, one arm protectively slung over Harry’s shoulders, the other running soothingly through a full head of chocolate curls.

“Shhh,” Louis whispers. “You’ll be alright. Everything will be alright, love.” Louis doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t know when he became so soft and tender, but something about this boy makes him want to hold him, tell him it’s alright. He wants him to be happy.

Jesus, he’s a complete sap and he doesn’t even know the kid’s name. Right now though, with delicate curls tickling his bare chest, small quiet choked snuffles and hot tears running against his skin, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing beyond this boy really matters, just now.

“I waited- I,” Harry sniffles, words choked back by throat spasms. “I waited so, so long Louis.”

Louis feels his heart in his throat and he tries to swallow around it. “I know,” he whispers into hair that smells of strawberries and teenage boy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love. But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.

It takes a while, but Harry’s breathing calms and his body is no longer wracked by quiet sobs, till Louis can just barely feel hot breath tickling his collarbone. Harry’s not crying anymore, but neither boy has let go of the other. Louis sits cross-legged leaning against the wall, Harry kneeling sideways in his lap, both boys holding on as though the smallest wind might blow them apart.

“I- I don’t love you.” Harry whispers into his neck, and Louis tries not to shiver when he feels the soft lips against his throat. “You said, you said love is love. And- that makes sense, I think. But I don’t love you. Not yet. I think, maybe- maybe I could, though. ”

It seems a bit harsh at first, and Louis doesn’t know what to say. It’s the truth, and it’s harsh, but Louis will take what he can get.

“I know,” he says, and nuzzles his nose into the boy’s soft hair. “That’s okay. That part comes on its own; what matters is you’re willing to try. What matters is I’m here now, I’m staying. I’m yours, and you’re mine. We’re going to be alright, yeah?”

Harry pulls back suddenly, and their eyes catch and as spring-grass-green tangles in winter-sky-blue, it feels like, yeah. Everything will be okay. Harry’s angel is here now, and they’re warm in the midst of a cold snowfall. For the first time, Harry notices how he fits right into Louis’ body, like puzzle pieces, and things fall into place.

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I can do that.”

Harry disentangles himself from Louis and sits next to him on the bed, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder. It slots into place; it’s just another piece of the puzzle.

“Can I ask you a question?” Louis says slowly, taking Harry’s hand in his, running his thumb over the knuckles. Harry hums his approval.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyebrows shoot up as he realizes that he’s just sobbed all over a complete stranger, without having enough decency to introduce himself. “I’m- I’m just me. I’m just Harry- Harry Styles.”

“Well, Just Harry Styles,” Louis chuckles, bringing Harry’s hand up to his mouth. “You’re very, very beautiful.” He presses a small kiss to the middle of the back of Harry’s hand, flips it over, and kisses his palm in the same place. “It’s a pleasure to have finally met you.”

Harry sighs, and he feels a warmth in his stomach, reaching out slowly, spreading till he feels it at the very tips of his fingers and toes, and it feels as though it has encompassed him and Louis, and everything around them. He feels a blush on his cheeks, and pushes his head closer to Louis, impossibly closer.

Harry feels okay now. Nothing’s quite perfect, but it feels like it could be... like it’s nearly close to perfect. It feels like they’re on the brink of something great, something that’s been a long time coming. Harry feels like he could plummet head over heels at any moment, but that’s okay, because there’s always snow to break his fall.

Because there’s always a spring after winter.

 

####

 

Sitting here with his back propped on a pillow against the headboard, Harry feels like he’s losing something, or letting something go. With a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and Louis’ hand in his other, it feels like all those years, all the other nights that bordered on okay-but-not-quite-right, it was all leading up to this. Harry isn’t sure whether or not to be worried at the sudden found comfort in a stranger who already feels like so much more.

“You can ask anything you want, really,” Louis states for the third time as he leans over, picking up his own mug off the tray on the bedside table,thanks, love, cue for Harry to blush stupidly, “Really, like- anything. Go on.”

“Tell me about, like, where you came from. How you flew down,” Harry prompts eagerly.

“More of how I was shoved down,” Louis says dryly. “Not that I didn’t want to come or anything. I’m actually already starting to forget what was up there, honestly. I had a room, sort of like this one, we all had rooms. Me and the other angels, that is. Erm- I had a mate up there. Not sure, but I think his name was Stan. Everything was- white. I remember that, everything was white up there, the clothes, walls and everything. I’ve never actually seen so many colours.” Louis looks around the room, drinking it all in. “It’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at Louis. “It is.”

Louis takes a sip of his tea and ruffles his hair with one hand.

“I want-” Harry’s lips press together and he looks down at the cup in his hands, embarrassed. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?” Louis pokes Harry’s calf with his big toe. “’ve got the rest of my whole life to spend with you; don’t think I’ll be this accommodating forever!”

It’s a joke, Harry knows it’s a joke, but he only caught one part of what Louis said, anyhow.  _My whole life. My whole life._

Louis pokes him again.

“Okay,” Harry concedes. “I just- you know. I wanted to see your wings. But nevermind.”

Louis outright laughs, throwing his head back and giving Harry a clear view of his white teeth, sharp canines and his crinkly eyes. Beautiful, Harry thinks without really thinking.

“Of course you can! I’m all yours, babe.” Harry’s mind is definitely not pondering the fact that Louis has just endowed him with yet another pet name. He’s not making a list of them, either. (Love, angel - ironic, that one - , princess - jokingly, and no, Harry did not like it - and now babe. But Harry’s not keeping track, really.)

Louis gets up off the bed carefully and sets his mug down on the nightstand, standing in front of Harry. “Here, like this,” he says and takes Harr’s tea too, pulling him by the knees so he’s at the edge of the bed. Louis turns around, and sits between his legs. Harry scoots back a bit, taking it in.

The wings are folded now, Harry saw them spread out a bit when he first walked in on Louis in his room and they looked to be about double the length as his own arms if he were to spread them out. They’re an impeccable white, so white it’s almost tinted blue, little baby feathers fuzzing out where Louis’ skin ends and the wings begin, getting bigger as they reach out. The largest feathers at the tips are longer than Harry’s hand. The wings make two inverted v’s where they’re folded, a knob where the bone joint is. At the very tips and bottom of the wings the feathers are actually colored a light powder blue and fade airbrush-like into a dark periwinkle. It’s like nothing Harry’s seen before; he knows Niall’s wings are lilac colored at the very tip and it is normal to have colored tips, or completely white ones. He’s never ever seen an angel with double colors though, it's breath-taking and he feels inexplicably honored and proud that Louis is his, all his.

“Can I touch?” Harry whispers, not sure why. He clears his throat. “Please?”

“Course,” Louis says, and his voice strangely seems strained. “Just, don’t like, be scared if they spread out or anything, they’re sensitive. They sorta do by themselves if I’m, like, falling. Or scared. Or, uh, if something exciting is going. It’s the adrenaline. Go ahead, though.”

Harry nods to himself and spreads out his fingers, bringing his hands to a still just at the v joints. He takes a deep breath, and moves his hands to Louis’ bare skin, instead. He’s ridiculously warm, skin hot even, but Harry knows thats normal for an angel. He runs one hand down, catching his thumb on the knobs of Louis’ spine between his wings, stopping well before he reaches Louis’ trousers. He lifts his hands to caress the round knobs of the joint bones of each wing and feels the fuzzy feathers there. They’re downy, soft to the touch and he rubs both thumbs in circles. “So soft, Louis.” He’s still whispering. His hands run from the joints towards Louis’ skin, ruffling the feathers against their natural direction, and Louis shivers, mumbling something. Harry runs his hands over again, petting the feathers into their place. It’s so, so soft and he doesn’t want to stop; he ruffles them again, brushes them into place.

He doesn’t realize until the third or fourth time that Louis’ shoulders are sort of heaving, and his wings have spread out to almost full length, brushing the wall to their right.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice is strained and he shifts his hips. “Haz, stop. Sorry, just-”

Harry takes his hands off and scoots further back, confused. “Sorry, I didn’t, I was just. The feathers were so- oh.” Oh.

Louis gets up, stands in front of him, pants obviously tented with what could only be a hard on, one hand covering himself and his face red. Oh.

“Oh,” Harry breathes, and he can feel his face heat up. “Oh, I. Sorry. Oh. _Oh_.” He has absolutely no idea what to do with himself. He’s just given his angel a hard-on from touching his wings and- oh God. He’s internally panicking.

Louis scratches his own hair and looks everywhere but Harry. “Sorry, Haz. I just- they’re sensitive. I- like. It’s not like I get off on it, I swear. Please don’t freak out. Here.”

Louis walks quickly to the same window he first came in through and wrenches it open, running both hands over his face. Harry stays quiet, wishing he could just melt into the duvet and escape the awkward.

“Tell me about yourself, Harry.” Louis says softly after a moment, not turning around. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, trying to collect his bearings.

“There’s not much to say? I’m- well, I’m Harry Styles- I mean, obviously. Born and raised here in Cheshire, and I’m fifteen. I like, um, cats- I have one, dunno where she is right now, though. I have a mum, her name’s Anne, and one sister, Gemma. My dad is, well, doesn’t matter, he left. I go to school with kids I’ve known since, I don’t know, forever. I have a friend. His name is, uh, Liam. And that’s my life.”

Harry finishes speaking, studying the veins in his palms like he might be studying a particularly fascinating new species, or like there isn’t an angel-boy-with-too-blue-eyes staring at him from across the room now. He looks everywhere but back at him, eyes staying glued to the mugs on his bedside table. Tea is really quite fascinating, though, Harry’s always prided himself on knowing when exactly to take out the bag and sometimes he’ll add a spoon of-

“That sounds like a complete bore.” Louis looks on at him and Harry feels his cheeks heat a bit, feeling stupid. He hadn’t even tried to make himself sound cooler, or like, more fun or anything. He’s already failing at this whole angel thing and he hasn’t even started.

“Well,” he starts, using a tone he hopes comes off as more not-trying-to-show-off-but-I-really-am, and less apologetic, “I play guitar? Sometimes. I’m in the school band, too! Played the clarinet in-”

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean any of that stuff was bad- or anything. Cats are cool, and uh, your friend, William, he sounds cool.”

“Liam,” Harry corrects noncommittally.

“Yeah,” Louis huffs a small laugh. “I mean, I’d love to meet your family too, of course. I just- ” He seems at a loss for words. Louis turns back to look out the window.

“I think we could spice things up a bit,” Louis says as he looks back smiling with a glint in his eye, “and I know exactly what you need.”

***

Louis is stupid. Louis really is, very much so and copious amounts of it, too. He sits on the edge of Harry’s bed, watching the young boy layer on two extra hoodies, a coat, a few pairs of gloves and socks, a pair of black boots, and on top of it all, an orange beanie. He looks like a marshmallow.

Louis smiles. “You look gorgeous.”

Harry smiles widely and strikes a pose with his hands on his hips. “Thaaanks,” he drawls, batting at Louis with a limp wrist. Louis laughs and shakes his head softly. He might be several stages of gone already, and he isn’t even worried.

“Ready?” He stands by Harry’s second floor bedroom’s wide open window. He takes in a deep breath of cold air that smells of clean snow and burning logs, and turns around. Harry stands awkwardly behind him, messing with the zipper on his coat.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, you know. We could stay and-”

He grabs Harry’s hand, tugging him towards the window.

“Scared of heights, Harry?” Harry shakes his head. “Alright, then. See the drain pipe?” Louis gestures to the right of the house, outside the window. “You go first and climb it till you reach the roof; I’ll go behind you in case you fall.”

Harry scoffs at that, him, fall, as if.

He slips a bit just as he’s reaching out to grab hold of the roof’s shingles. Louis catches him, obviously, one foot steadied on the ledge of the window, and he hoists Harry up onto the small flat section at the edge of the roof. Harry leans down slowly on his knees and helps Louis up next to him.

“Alright,” Harry takes a deep breath and turns to Louis. “How- erm. How do you usually do this? Do you want me to be on top, or-?”

Louis laughs loudly.

“Subtle, Harry. Right here on the roof? I mean, hey, if that’s your thing..”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Wanker.”

“You love it. Alright, get in front of me- no, turn around and face me. Okay, put your feet out around mine- now jump up on my waist.”

Louis’ hands reach around Harry’s back, one under his bum and the other round his waist. “Fucking marshmallow,” Louis mutters.

“Oi! Are you calling me fat? Put me down! Neanderthal, not the slightest idea of how to treat a proper lady,” Harry gripes.

“Never, love, your figure is absolutely perfect. I’m a gentleman!” Louis squeezes one of Harry’s arse cheeks, making Harry wriggle and giggle into the crook of Louis’ neck.

“Okay, Harry. Moment of truth,” Louis says and he steps to the very edge of the roof, wings spreading gracefully and Harry’s eyes are wide in anticipation.

“Hell yeah, baby. I was born-” Harry cuts off in a (manly) scream as Louis jumps off the roof. His arms grip tighter around Louis’ waist in a vice-like hold, squeezing the air out of him and he buries his face in Louis’ chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck you, Louis. Fuck, fuck.” Louis laughs, thinking that this was a rather good idea. He holds on tighter to Harry even though he doesn’t need to considering Harry is clinging to him like a baby koala, but if he can, he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t. They drop till they almost hit the snow on the ground, the frantic flapping of Louis’ wings bringing them up slowly at first. The sound of flapping wings rings loudly in the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

As they fly higher and higher up, flurries of snowflakes surround them and somewhere off in the distance Louis knows life is going on, people on about their everyday tasks. This feels like escaping already; the haze of snow combines with chimney smoke giving everything a dreamlike quality.

After a minute or so, Louis is high up enough to see the roofs of houses all around them, cars small enough to blot out with his thumb. Harry mumbles nonsensical things into his bare chest. Louis sighs.

“Harry. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” Harry mumbles. “Peachy keen.”

Louis rolls his eyes, smiling. He tilts his head, putting his mouth to Harry’s face, sinking his teeth sharply into his cheek.

“Louis- what the hell! Did you just-” Harry cuts off, one hand stilled on his cheek wiping where Louis’ bitten him. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

Louis smiles softly, watching Harry look around. His green eyes widen and his mouth falls open in a small, unbelieving smile, his breath coming in pants, fogging the air between them. His cheeks are reddened from the cold, a stark contrast against his pale skin and rose-kissed lips. Louis’ eyes linger on them, and he wonders for a moment how soft they’d feel under his own.

“Look at the houses, Lou. Look how small they are,” Harry says in awe, looking like he’s never done anything as amazing as this, never seen anything so breathtaking. Louis supposes that must be true.

“Do y’want to go higher?” Louis asks, knowing shouldn’t be offering that. He hasn’t exactly done this before, he has no idea how high he can go or when to stop.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and his eyes finally meet Louis’. “You can do that?”

And, well. Louis isn’t trying to show off, merely politely answering Harry’s question. He wills his wings to take them higher, face stony from exerting himself. If it makes Harry look at him as though the sun shines out his arse, though, he’ll damn well do it.

Louis isn’t really looking where he’s going, all he can see is Harry: Harry’s green eyes filled with equal parts wonder and a sort of frozen shock, as though he still can’t believe what they're doing. Louis stops, his wings flapping slowly through the air, when he notices Harry’s teeth chattering. He takes a hand from around his waist and brings it up to Harry’s face, keeping it over his cheek.

“Should I take us down, now?” He brushes a curl back under Harry’s beanie.

“No,” Harry shivers. “A bit, wanna stay a bit. Please?”

Louis pretends to think it over, though he knows the answer before Harry even had to ask.

“Course. Long as you’d like.” And he shouldn’t be promising shit like that to cute little wonder-struck boys like Harry, but it’s just- it’s fuckingHarry. He can’t say anything but yes to those eyes, that face, his whole fucking existence.

It’s just then, with the dying sunlight reflecting the gold flecks in the green of Harry’s eyes, lighting up his eyelashes and giving shadow to the hollows of his cheeks, that Louis kind of realizes he’s a little-bit-a-lot screwed. Before he does something stupid, like think out loud, Harry’s eyes meet his and time stops for them, like the rest of the world sort of knows about HarryandLouis, like the universe has had this planned for ages. It’s like an avalanche falling all as much as it is like a small snowball at the top of a hill that’s undeniably huge by the time it stops rolling. It is also like falling and a lot like flying all at the same time. Harry blushes and looks away, smile bringing out his dimples.

Harry pinches Louis’ cheek and says,“Get me down before I freeze to death!”

Louis grins, “Your wish is my command.”

On the way down, Louis pretends he’s lost control of his wings, bringing them to a standstill, and they plummet down. Harry’s scream is so worth it.

***

“Harry Edward Styles, where on Earth have you- oh.”

Harry takes off his beanie and picks at it nervously with his long fingers, and looks anywhere other than his mum.

“Um, hey Mum,” he starts off weakly. “This,” he says, turning his head to look at Louis who is standing sheepishly with his hands clasped behind his back at the open window. “This is an- uh,” he hesitates for barely a moment and looks back at Louis, whose expression is half like a challenge, the other half curious. He’s egging him on, like, c’mon, claim me, I’m yours, call me  **yours**. “This is my angel. He got in early this morning, he’s mine. My angel.” He catches Louis’ thin lips lift up in a smile, lips pressed together like he’s trying to stop himself while he looks studiously at the floor. His eyes all but disappear into the smile and Harry catches a glance of his sharp little canines. Harry feels the smile spreading to his own face, looking at Louis who manages to look pleased while simultaneously looking guilty, perfect Louis with little snowflakes in his hair.

With a jolt Harry realizes Anne is still in the room and he chances a look up to gauge her reaction. Her arms are still crossed and her eyebrows slanted sternly as she takes in Harry’s snow covered attire, and Louis’ snow covered wings and both of their flushed cheeks. Her eyes show no surprise at the fact that there is a half naked boy with wings standing in her son’s bedroom, and she continues to look at him tight-lipped without saying anything.

“Erm, hello ma’am!” Louis says, looking up cheerfully and he steps forward extending a hand, and Harry breathes out a sigh of relief. “My name is Louis Tomlinson, and I’m your son’s guardian.”

Anne’s expression doesn’t flinch for a moment, and her eyes flit over Louis like she’s looking for something, something in his face or maybe the way he smiles or maybe the way his body is still angled towards Harry even when he's talking to Anne.

Apparently she’s found it, because her shoulders immediately relax and a fond smile lights up her face, eyes melting softly like the thaw of snow as it moves into spring, summer.

She’s saying something, taking Louis into a hug, and Louis hugs her back tentatively, looking surprised and they’re talking but all Harry can hear is the blood rushing through his veins in his ears, like the silence they’d experienced in the still winter sky hasn’t quite faded yet.

Your son’s guardian. He’s my angel. The rest of my whole life.

***

Dinner is halfway through and Niall has yet to stop laughing. He and Louis have hit right off, Harry notes darkly as Louis not-so-subtly with his fork traces another alarmingly large penis through his gravy, smoothing it out quickly when Anne looks over.

“Lovely pudding, ma’am,” Louis states innocently. Anne just shakes her head smiling softly and gets up, taking her plate to the sink. Gemma watches them all from the head of the table and Niall keeps eating, laughing every time Louis dares to breathe. Harry sulks a bit at his plate, but he can’t stop the smile on his face everytime Louis’ pinky brushes over his hand, every time Louis hooks his ankle with Harry’s.

“So, Tomlinson,” Gemma says sweetly enough when Anne has left the room, and Niall stops eating and clears his throat, Harry puts his spoon down.

“Where you been at all these years, Tommo?” Gemma leans forward and her eyes hold a mischievous smirk, contradicting the lovely, seemingly easy going smile she’s bestowed on Louis. “Took a fair bit of time for you to get here, yeah?”

Louis’ gulp is a bit comical, loud in the now silent dining room. Harry watches Louis’ face for a second, watches the tiny bit of panic as Louis looks to Harry’s face quickly as though it might be a compass, showing him where to go, what to do next. Louis turns back to face Gemma, mouth open to say something and Harry can see the merciless mirth in her eyes, endlessly amused at messing with Louis.

“Lay off him, Gems,” Harrys says easily and stretches his arm back over on Louis’ shoulders. “You’re just jealous he’s got double-tipped wings.” Niall guffaws like Harry’s told a great joke, slapping at the table and at Louis’ knee. Louis laughs breathlessly, and smiles up at Harry in thanks.

Gemma’s smile widens and she looks back and forth from Harry to Louis, then Louis to Niall.

“Well, Lewis. I do think you’ll find yourself fitting in around here,” Gemma says as she calmly takes a cut of roast beef from Niall’s plate, who sweetly pushes the dish closer to her.

Dinner goes quite well, all things considered. Harry only sulks a bit more.

***

“You can- uh,” Harry’s words die in his throat and he looks away from Louis quickly as he sees him taking his trousers off.

“Yeah?” Louis says, not looking up.

“You can use the, erm, bathroom first, if you’d like,” Harry continues, strictly keeping his eyes on the wall. “Are you done?”

“Oh! I haven’t actually got anything,” Louis says sheepishly. “To wear, I mean. I’ve only got these.” He gestures to his pants, a pair of tiny white briefs that Harry does not appreciate.

"Oh!" Harry moves and begins to rummage through his dresser. "''ve I got a pair of  sweats you can put on? I don't know, um. Is that weird? Like, you don't have to wear them, because they're mine, or if you want to you can. I mean-"

"Harry, love. It's alright. Yeah, I'll wear them."

Louis walks to Harry to take the sweats from him, stalking slowly towards him.

"Harry?" he asks, his voice soft. "Is everything alright? Not that it shouldn't be, I just. Um. Is everything okay?"

Harry blushes and does a nervous pushover of his hair with his big hand. He huffs nervously. "Yes. Um, yes, Lou, I'm fine."

Louis beams at Harry, his sharp canines showing beneath think pink lips. "Great, love," he says leaning forward and giving Harry a peck on the cheek.

Harry squeaks and startles back into his dresser, pleasantly taken off guard. "I. Uh. Louis! You need to brush your teeth. Like, for bed. Hygiene. And things."

Louis chuckles. “Alright then, Harry. Lead the way,” he says gesturing grandly with his hand.

“Alright. Listen up, Lou,” Harry says seriously once they're in the bathroom. “I’m only doing this once, so pay attention.”

“Get on with it, Styles.” Louis shoves Harry with his hip.

Harry squeezes a liberal amount of toothpaste onto his brush and rinses his mouth with cold water. “Okay,” he says. “You sort of just, uh,” Harry’s eyes meet Louis’ in the mirror and he blushes. “Erm. You just put it in, like, your mouth. And move it in small circles.”

Louis bursts out with laughter. “Please, demonstrate. You seem to be really good at this, Haz.”

Harry brushes his teeth, his usually careful and measured movements made clumsy by being watched so intensely. He can feel the heavy weight of Louis’ eyes on him as he places his toothbrush back in its holder. He doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes when he asks if he’d like to try it now.

“You’ve got a bit of, uh,” Louis says quietly, his hand drifting up slowly to Harry’s cheek. Time feels frozen and Harry’s brain short circuits as he feels Louis’ warm small hand on his cheek and the pad of Louis’ thumb on his bottom lip and his heart beats against his rib cage like it’s fighting to get out. Their eyes meet and Harry forgets how to breathe when he sees Louis’ dilated pupils.

“What’s it called?” Louis asks in a whisper. “Titpaste?”

The moment dissolves like sugar in a cup of hot tea on a cold winter morning and Louis’ jokes are horrible, but Harry’s still blushing. And that’s all Louis was going for if he’s honest with himself.

****  
  


***

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Harry says to his ceiling. He can feels his cheeks burn and he’s all too aware of Louis’ warmth around him, but with the lights off and night fallen over them, he feels brave enough to say things he wouldn’t in broad daylight. “Was getting a bit lonely, if I’m honest.”

“I’m sorry, Haz,” Louis says, breathily, and Louis’ voice floating over Harry’s pillow at 2 in the morning is something Harry didn’t know he needed so much, something he didn’t know he’d been waiting for. “But I’m here now, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Louis’ breath on Harry’s cheek, so close to him he doesn’t know if he wants to move closer or wiggle away, a little bit of both, makes Harry shiver involuntarily.

“Oh! Are you cold, Harry? Do you need another blanket?”

“No! I’m not cold.” Harry says.

“Then why are you-”

“It’s your voice,” Harry cuts Louis off, getting the words quickly out of his mouth before they melt back down into his throat. “It’s like- soft. ‘m not used to it.”

Louis tenses next to Harry, goes rigid for a second. He relaxes, and Harry can feel Louis’ nose against his jawbone, feather-light against his cheek, coming up to his ear and resting there.

“You’ll get used to it,” Louis whispers confidently. “Cause I’ll always be right here.”

Harry can’t answer for a couple minutes. He doesn’t know if he’s up to the challenge of coming up with words to describe this, describe how this all makes him feel, so when his hand scrambles under the covers fruitlessly till Louis’ hand meets him halfway like two ships drawn to each other and squeezes tight, Harry says in his choked up voice, “Thank you,” and it feels like he’s done alright.

Louis insists on holding Harry in his wings despite Harry’s protests that he’s not cold, because he needs Harry just as much as Harry needs him, and Harry needs to know it. They snuggle into each other, wrapped in a cozy cocoon of feathers, Louis’ button nose pressed up against Harry’s soft cheek and their hands hold tight, right against Harry’s heart.

Later, the house is quiet save for wind howling outside and Louis’ even breathing next to Harry. He’s tired but he can’t sleep, and he doesn’t want to move in case he wakes Louis up. He counts to three in his head before speaking.

“Lou,” he whispers. “Louis, are you awake?”

“No,” Louis answers sleepily, his voice rough in his throat, “‘m asleep.”

“Louis.” Harry turns his head a fraction towards him. “I want to try something, please.”

Harry can hear Louis open his mouth to answer, but he doesn’t wait to hear it, because if he does he might never go through with this and he doesn’t feel like racking up regrets, not ones involving this angel, anyhow.

So, before Louis says anything, Harry cranes his neck quickly and presses his lips against Louis’ soft mouth. Harry’s lips press tightly against Louis, their noses mashed on each other and Harry didn’t expect it to be this close, his face right on Louis’, their mouths touching. Harry pulls back, and his harsh breathing mingles with Louis’, sounding loudly in the otherwise silent room.

“Louis,” Harry starts.

Louis shushes him with a peck on the lips. “Sleep, princess.” Louis kisses Harry on the forehead once before settling his head down on Harry’s chest.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Lou.”

Louis falls asleep to dreams of starry night skies and boys with grass-green eyes, and with Harry’s solid and grounding weight breathing against him, he knows he knows he’s found his warmth in the midst of a cold winter.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, [Sarah](http://letstalkaboutharrysbuns.tumblr.com). I basically owe you my soul at this point.
> 
> if you wanna be my lover, [im on tumblr](http://abandonedpizzacrust.tumblr.com)


End file.
